Thirteen
by BallpointNym
Summary: Don't we deserve a happy ending? No, evil is never that kind. Thirteen whole new monsters have emerged. My new family is in danger. But you know these Homonculi, at least some of you, dear readers. Manga Post-series, crossover.
1. Limbo, the Neutral

**Alright- the basic premise behind this fic is one I've been tossing around in my head for a while- thirteen new Homunculi have been developed, each one based on a fictional character from a different fandom. It's set post-brotherhood, after Ed and Winry have successfully copulated. See if you can guess which homunculus is who! There'll be a chapter for each one- their motifs are the nine circles of hell, and the four horsemen of the apocalypse, because I thought that complemented the sins :). Enjoy, and review if you like!**

The bar is maybe a little grimy, most defiantly cheep; but it was the nearest place after Ed got the call, and that was all it needed to be. The Fullmetal clasped a half-pint, willing his hands not to shake with fury and misery at the returning emotional floodgate.

"They're back."

That was how Roy had started the call. Edward wished he had picked up right away, but this wasn't a novel. The horror only sunk in gradually, like his brain was absorbing it in doses, as Roy explained away in a rough and no-nonsense manner. It was surreal how he was talking about this so easily. It shouldn't seem like just another military complication. Mustang should have burst into tears. But, no, they were dealing with the problem rationally, like a well-organized military nation should, with plenty of protocol.

That was the word Roy had used that pushed Ed over the edge. Protocol

How could there be protocol for dealing with homunculi? How could there be homunculi at all? He, of course, had asked the latter, and had been answered with a tired and clipped, "Come, and you'll know," then the sound of a receiver meeting a mouthpiece, a brief stare at the wallpaper, and a stagger out of the door and into the first bar that caught his eye.

Edward really started to cry into his drink, then bit it down. He didn't want to be here anyway, he wasn't one to drown his sorrow.

But a problem this big…

There was no avoiding it. He left the beer untouched, paid his tab, and began a dreamlike sleepwalk into the car, and to… he didn't know what. After all they had went through to neutralize these creatures, Edward didn't know if he could handle the stress of another hostile homunculus. And Roy said the beast in their custody had hinted at the presence of more. It was practically Sisyphean, a joke in poor taste. Elric wasn't laughing.

"Fullmetal."

"C-"

Ed stopped himself, almost smiling. He had almost called Mustang Colonel, a slip he had sworn mentally not to make, once Roy had achieved his life goal.

"Fuhrer."

"How are the children?"

"Good."

"And the wife?"

"Fine."

God, it felt strange to here him ask that.

There was no banter, no feeling of reunion, apart from one's vague mental remarks on the other. Roy's explained (a pained enterior trying to leak out of his face, to no avail) that the homunculus in the interrogation room had confessed right away to being a somewhat infamous serial killer Ed had never heard of. He had come completely quietly, after a short chase in East City that ended in an ambush, and was shipped almost immediately to Central for questioning. Edward and Alphonse were considered experts on the subject apparently, and were both asked to assist with determining the creature's origins. Al was due to arrive the next morning.

"-You are not bound in any way," Finished Roy, "But… we need all the knowledge we can get."

Elric's gold eyes tried to get a hold on Mustang's blue. The Fuhrer immediately turned away. Just how much were the years wearing on him. "This way," Roy beckoned.

_I sit, tapping my claws on the fake wood, and Fuhrer, along with his famous ex-alchemist buddy enter the room. They're all very serious and get rather loud when I don't respond right away. I choose what questions I answer, thank you very much. It just so happens that one jumps out at me._

"_How many people have you killed?"_

_The Elric guy asks it. His face is that mask of rage I'm so used to seeing. Why can't these military people have any other reactions to me? I'd love to see an angsty sob, or a bitter laugh at the irony, or, most of all, forgiveness. Not because I'm sorry or anything, I just think it's one of my favorite emotions. It's second to curiosity. My least favorite emotion is boredom, in case you haven't guessed._

_Anyway, I answer the question. "You mean humans?"_

"_Of course? Who else? Homunculi?"_

"_No. I don't feel much in the mood for explaining the nuances of where I come from."_

_Mustang slams his fist down on the table like an ox. Or like a bull. Hey, I just made the connection with his name. Funny stuff. _

"_Where _do_ you come from, demon?" He says. Passionate guy. I make the decision not to taunt. Much._

"_You've hinted at it," I reply. "I was created special by Cocytus. She split her soul into seven vessels, following the example of... well, you've met him."_

_There's a sharp intake of breath, from both. I love it. I'm really getting the hang of social interaction, let me tell ya. _

"_I'm not one of her children, y'see, just an ex-ally," I say, scratching my neck. "I'm called Limbo." _

_They exchange subtle looks. Glad to see I've made my mark. The Fullmetal is shaking with fury. "So there are nine of you in total?" he asks bluntly. _

_I nod. "She wants to make more, I think."_

"_She won't get the chance," snaps Roy. _

_He's louder then I expect that time, and I give a little mental jump. I'm glad I don't have any facial muscles. That really works in my favor during the interrogations._

_They leave the room to talk in private, with the obligatory "We'll be back soon". I'm glad to get out early, makes this a whole lot easier. After a while, the guard shoves a tray of food through the slot. _

_Oh my god. _

_How did they know? It's my favorite treat. _

_Before I can partake in that wonderful taste and texture, I make sure to whisper through the slot, "Hey, buddy, what's your name?"_

_The guard doesn't answer, of course. It's just as well. That would be an unsubtle, if fun, escape plan, to write that fellow's moniker in my special book. I reach into myself, and pull out the one thing they couldn't confiscate. It's a notebook, in which only a few names are written. And causes of death, or course. Laughing to myself, I flip through it, reminiscing. I won't kill anyone important, though. That's too much interference, I think to myself. I won't get to see all these marvelous politics unfold, these hilarious human emotions work. Not if I kill anyone that might have a major role. I only allowed myself to get captured so I could see these two up close. But I have other stuff._

_Anyway, long story short, I grab the dented apple from the tray, leaving the rest, which I don't need. I'll store this one for later, I think, and drop the glistening fruit, along with the notebook, into the void of my chest. I then walk right through the wall, shattering their illusion of control (once anyone decides to reenter)._

_Things are really heating up, and I'm able to see it all hit center stage._

_Humans are so _Interesting.


	2. Lillin, the Carnal

**For those that couldn't guess, Limbo's AU Identity was Ryuk, from Death Note.**

Officially, Amestris is an Atheistic state. Militaristic governments tend to be rather unimaginative in that field, particularly puppet ones. But outside of its borders, religions have quite the variety. Father Cornello's sham was just another iron in the fire, made special by the "miracles" of his imperfect philosopher's stone. These faiths squabble over pointless details. In Creta, where a fair amount of Ishvalan refugees became nomadic exiles, their religion clashed with Knossism, another monotheistic arrangement, focusing heavily on sin and redemption.

The Homunculus called Lillin, who had clawed his way up through the priesthood, and into limitless government influence, was plunged into the forefront of these conflicts, fighting passionately for one side. Rather ironic, seeing as, if any other member of the clergy realized what he was, they would revile him as a monster. This only motivated him more along the path to redemption. Given his nature however, it also opened the path to zealotry, bigotry, repression, misdirected shame, and scapegoating.

A tragic beast was he, from some perspectives, the last to be used by the entity called Cocytus as a soul-fragment vessel. Rather like Father's last child, he could grow older, and formed a new identity. Unlike wrath, he was not at all loyal to where he came from. A monster, was Cocytus. An excellent allegory for original sin. Lillin would purge his parent's influence from his soul. In some ways, he was better then man, he convinced himself. And his pride and shame twisted into a hatred that had no place in the church. But by the time it escaped, it was too late.

"Freeloaders…"

"Whining little…"

"Red-eyed bastards…"

Archdeacon Lillin's ancient cheek twitched slightly, with the barest ghost of the slightest shadow of a smirk. The other priests mistook it for old age. Good, he wouldn't want his reputation of utmost stoicism smudged. The crowd was swelling with sharp words towards the band of laughing Ishvalans that had wormed their way throughout the market. The nomads made a point to ignore the slurs. That was also good. Too afraid to bite the hand that feeds them. The vermin were loosing their edge.

Lillim wasn't half-smiling at the redeyes. They rarely inspired positive emotion. Instead, he found the upfront slurs of the crowd bemusing. An uncouth, impatient way of dealing with the Ishvalan agenda. The common workmen of Creta needed to let go of their tension. The government would take care of any ethnic cleansing that needed getting done. And Lillin would do what he can to see that made reality. And he would do it in secret, not wanting of reward, a beacon of humility in a boastful world.

"Father?"

"Hm?"

Another clergyman had grounded his thoughts. Focus on the moment, Lillin told himself. If I dwell too much on foresight, I will begin to fret over what may go wrong. He forced his attention on the peer, Brother Descartes.

"The Alchemists are here, father," Said Descartes, gesturing towards two Amestrian State Alchemists, wearing a fair amount of Culture Shock on their faces. One was hulking, with an almost-shaved head, heavy eyes and a lined face- the famous Strong Arm. The other was rather attractive, another blonde blue-eyed. They grew on trees in Amestris, apparently. He was avoiding eye contact, distracted by the sensory overload. This one would be difficult to control, Lillin could tell right away in his face.

"Ah, what a coincidence," Lillin spoke in his lightest baritone. "We were just out here to foresee the festival. I can ascertain you were soaking up the local, uh… flavor, before arriving at the church?" he chuckled.

"Indeed, father," Said Armstrong, possibly smiling underneath a bushy mustache. He extended a hand. "An honor to meet you, Archdeacon Lillin. Colonel Alex Louise Armstrong. And this is Major Karl Damascus."

The shorter man gave a little wave, and an even smaller smile.

"Charmed," said Lillin, his manner… somewhat less frosty than usual. He took Alex Louise's arm. It was rather gentle, oddly enough. "I do understand if you are… apprehensive about bodyguard duty for a priest," he continued, "But we do carry a rather large political standing. I have recently begun to fear for my life. Not for selfish reasons of course, but of the worry that certain factions, who hold me in high regard, will erupt into chaos, without my… mediating influence. But you know that already."

Armstrong definitely smiled this time. "It is our pleasure to keep the peace wherever we may be needed. You have a shortage of available alchemists in Creta. It was the least we could do."

Lillin nodded. "I would be ever so humbled if I and my brothers could show you around the city."

The taller Alchemist nodded, and the procession of priests and foreign military men earned a wide berth as they marched steadfast towards along the Market Streets.

Karl and Alex fell back almost immediately. Damascus deftly whispered, "So. Remind me again why he needs State Alchemists?"

Armstrong replied, "The people that want him dead are the nearest thing this country has to them."

"And why did the Fuhrer agree to send someone as decorated as you?"

The taller man sighed, and hissed, "Because of the kindness of the Fuhrer. "

He paused.

"And, well… Limbo, before he escaped, scrawled 'There's one in Creta,' on the walls of his cell."

Lillin heard all this, and frowned.

"Look at that disgusting display."

"Yes _sir_."

The archdeacon gritted his teeth. A tasteless joke on the part of Damascus, to be sure. Was respecting a well-honored official too much to ask? He would see what he could do about that in the legal department. At the moment, Lillin was too tired too chastise the young officer. So tired these days. Invulnerability did not mean immortality, he noted, then shuddered at the memories that thought dragged to the surface. Distract yourself, distract yourself….

He couldn't very well look at the Ishvalan whore gyrating in center square, whom he had just noted to the major. Instead, Lillin busied himself with other sights, of which the market offered many. It was no use- everyone's attention seemed to be magnetically drawn to the "show", forcing his own gaze in that direction.

There had to be something wrong about this. If not, he would make it. Lillin's influence over legal circuits was his claim to fame, and he would be damned if he didn't use it. Figuratively speaking, of course.

For nearly fifteen minutes, the party's eyes were drawn to the dancing Ishvalan. No one made a move to leave. No one knew why, or that they stared for so long. There was some intangible quality to the girl. When Lillin saw the clock, he was furious to himself- no, to the others. Self-hate would get him nowhere. Righteous anger would.

As he stomped off with the awkward procession of priest and Alchemist, a feathery, perfumed sensation was felt on his neck. Lillin froze. He had always utterly hated spiders, really loathed them, and recognized they're feeling whenever he could- even if it wasn't real. Scrambling for a handhold on the potential arachnid, the Archdeacon produced a shawl. He let out a relieved sigh- false alarm. Then he froze. This was that redeye girl's. She had used it in… in… oh, god.

_Revolting._

He didn't even remember throwing it onto the ground and spitting on it, or the odd looks that action got him. But he did remember Damascus picking the sash off the unpaved market road, discreetly stowing it in his blue coat. What Lillin remembered most of that incident was that he himself made no move to stop the pervert.

It began to rain, later that night. Great floods of vibration, owing their source to a humble violin, swallowed the home of the archdeacon. Armstrong lay awake in his guestroom. Haunted by such stirring music, he remembered. Damascus snored in the adjacent bed. Lillin, who paced his balcony, unable to peel the image of the sash from his eyes, or its touch from his neck, looked up at a high window in annoyance. This would be ample distraction from my worries, he thought.

"Dis, quiet that racket."

A pale youth cocked his head to one side, placing his instrument on a nightstand. His eyes fixed on Lillin like an owl in a fir tree. The aftereffect still ringed in both of the priest's ears., no matter how old one of them was.

"I do apologize, brother. I was working on a new composition," said Dis, moving with his hushed feet across the muting carpet. Everything about the youth was insubstantial, thought Lillin. That unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

"Creative flow, hmm? I never thought I'd hear myself saying this, but I would much rather hear that _Ode to Joy_ nonsense." He waved a hand compulsively. "Besides, we have guests, and you are disturbing them."

"Sorry, bother, sorry." Dis closed his eyes, still remotely smiling.

"Out of the kindness of my heart I have offered you sanctuary, and risen you above your unholy station," Lillin said through gritted teeth. "Do not take scolding so lightly."

No response. Dis might have frowned a little.

"Does the song have a name?"

"Hellfire"

"Are you _trying _to-"

"It's a cautionary tale, brother. I hope to use it as an educational tool, once you deem it appropriate I enter the priesthood."

The archdeacon frowned. His brother had never expressed such direct interest in the plans Lillin had for him. He was a mystery, simply enough. Maybe I'm being too suspicious, he sighed to himself, delicately squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Lillin?"

"What, boy." It wasn't a question.

"Were you troubled by anything today?"

Lillin closed his eyes again and counted indefinitely. Finally, he said, "Yes. A patch of guilt. Nothing to worry over."

"Should you go to confession?"

"No… no!" he almost laughed. "That would be ridiculous." The archdeacon began to stumble out of his brother's Spartan living quarters. "If you can't sleep, just hum quietly to yourself. _Quietly_. And I might be able to provide paper for notetaking some time this week, if you _behave yourself_."

"Thank you, brother."

Lillin grunted and left. The song followed him, unplayed, through the hall, and out into the garden, where the face returned, stronger than ever, to his sight. It had never really left. He yelled, and made his way into the guest room. As if in a trance, he leered over Karl Damascus. When he collected himself in the hall, he archdeacon bolted to the fireplace. He began to weep, and pray.

"Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man. Of my virtue I am justly proud…."

But his did not burn it.

"What is your name?"

"Noah."

"And did you steal from a café on day of the festival?"

"Yes?"

"And you have the Gaul to seek sanctuary in a church that is not yours, after you have deliberately committed a crime?"

She was stiff. He did wish she would relax.

After an eternal second, she said, "I stole for selfless reasons. And doesn't it say in the holy book that this was a place of sanctuary for all, regardless of background?"

Lillin took a deep breath, then let it out. This one was difficult. He wished it could all be over in a blink, a forgettable incident, but no.

"Smart girl. We could have_ that _Noah, or we could have the Noah who tries to leave." He relished her name on his tongue. "I will contact the guard, and if you attempt an escape, well, the instruction is shoot to kill."

"For a just a theft-"

"We have other records. Do you remember November fifth, 1910? Or September thirteenth, 1911? The list goes on."

"And just why would you go the trouble to drag that up, hmm?"

She tried to avoid him, to elbow out of his personal space. He had her hands behind her in a flash. That foreign scent, it… it…

Dear god, he wanted this test to just stop _(wanted it to last forever)._

"Archdeacon!" Armstrong strode briskly into the room, shocked.

Embarrassment, fear, shame. All flooded Lillin's system like a hormone, and were eventually replaced with white-hot fury. He threw the Ishvalan girl on the ground, the disgusting redeye. What inkling of a right had she to seduce him? Yes, it was all her fault, it was all clear now. How could he have ever felt any sort of responsibility for anything? The nomadic vermin were-

"Archdeacon!" Armstrong repeated, dragging Lillin out of his maelstrom of thoughts. "Explain to me why you are assaulting that defenseless girl!"

"Defenseless?" Noah mumbled. She staggered upwards, taking advantage of Lillin's distraction, which was tenfold.

"You need not question it, now return to your guest room at once, Colonel."

"With all due respect sir, will you answer my query?"

Lillin's fury began to seep through. "You are a _bodyguard_, sir, and I do not think-"

The colonel was visibly ticked. He stood stiff in the aisle. "I am not a bodyguard," he bristled, "I am a State Alchemist on guard duty, and a Colonel of the Amestris state military. We agreed to help this nation, help _you_, who has near-public-official status, out of the love for fellow man, and the prevention of potential discord caused by your assassination."

He was on some kind of a role. The inflection was theatrical. Lillin shook, burning, his eyes locked with Armstrong, who pointed an accusing finger with the force of a performer.

"And know I see you unfairly singling out an Ishvalan, out of racism and cruelty, most likely. This regime has long opposed Creta's decision to keep resident Ishvalans in its borders, and has noted your public distaste for them, but that doesn't mean we were above-"

"Oh, silence your naïveté, Amestrian," Lillin commanded. "We both know you aren't hear out of any sort of Altruism. You are pursuing Homunculi."

Armstrong froze. "How do you know that name?"

Shit. The archdeacon thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick. "Because, sir, that is what has been making attempts on my life. But I think I can find other help, thank you very much. You're services are no longer required." He added spitefully.

"Tell me sir," the Colonel began, after a short silence, "Since I am no longer bound by tact, and you are so cozy with the government, what does it have planned by keeping the Ishvalan population it so despises within its borders."

Another pause.

"They will become more useful then they ever were in life," Intoned Lillin. How ungraceful. He would have to off this man, now. And he had let Noah get away. We can't have that. Hopefully, the redeye scum hadn't found a way to escape. No, she couldn't. He focused his attention on Armstrong. How dare he, how dare he deem the priesthood's practices unjust, when he, Lillin, was purer, more worthy of salvation, than the human race. He had risen out of more sin than a human could know, and had purified his every being. This Heathen fellow had ticked him off at a bad, bad time (that girl_thatgirl)_, and he would show no mercy for the lord.


End file.
